


The Next Step

by days4daisy



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (maybe), Alternate Reality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extra Treat, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-02 23:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19451992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Tony is alive. Somehow, some way, he’s alive. Isn't he?





	The Next Step

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



> Hope you like this treat, thedevilchicken!

“I am inevitable.”

“I am Iron Man.”

***

Tony takes a breath.

It’s like the first gasp of a drowning man lifted to shore. Pure bliss, and pain unlike anything Tony has experienced. That’s saying a lot for a guy who used to have an arc reactor in his chest. Tony flounders from the darkness, exhales croaked from his throat. He hugs his knees to his chest.

Tony is alive. Somehow, some way, he’s alive. Isn't he?

There is no bright light, that seems promising. Tony's eyes no longer sting from the wreckage of the dismantled Avengers Facility. Twin trails of tears feel cool on his cheeks. Tony brushes them away.

There is a ceiling over Tony’s head, and bunched sheets form a knot around Tony's feet. Maybe they transported him to a hospital. Tony must have been in pretty bad shape after the Snap.

The place isn’t half bad for a hospital room. It’s big. Wood walls. Fancy dresser. Old style arched windows. Rain taps against the glass followed by a grumble of thunder. On instinct, Tony wants to tell Thor to knock it off.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when a hand rests on his back. It withdraws quickly, but not before Tony notices how warm and soft it is. Tony isn’t wearing a shirt. Probably a good thing given the cold sweat he's in.

Tony squints over his shoulder. The last thing he expects to see is Stephen Strange. Strange lies on his back, hand still stretched towards Tony. He's missing a shirt too.

Tony thought Strange stopped practicing medicine, first of all. Second of all, sharing beds with patients has to be a no-no in medical circles. Unless some new shirtless physical therapy is all the rage.

“Easy,” Strange says. “Bad dream, that’s all.”

No shit. After what they survived, bad dreams come with the territory. "What the hell is going on?” Tony grumbles. He feels like he has cotton balls for a brain.

With more of his wits about him, Tony’s hospital theory goes out the window. These bed sheets are too nice for even the priciest private hospital in the city. The dresser against the wall has to be antique. And the rug next to the bed, red wine with gold threading, doesn't exactly scream 'medical practice.'

Tony looks at Strange again. Still shirtless, yep, that's a thing. Bed sheets sit lazily around his waist. Tony wonders if he has anything on underneath.

Crazy as this all is, what Tony finds most jarring is how unguarded Strange looks. Strange's head tips curiously as he gazes up at Tony. Affectionate concern. Beyond weird.

“Was it the one about the end of the world again?” Strange asks. “Dust and stones?”

“Dust and stones,” Tony echoes quietly.

He must look as shaken as he sounds, because Strange gives touching him another try. This time, his fingers settle on Tony’s arm. Tony frowns.

Before Tony's brain can catch up to his actions, he has Strange’s hand between his. Strange startles at the change, but he doesn’t pull away.

Tony is too busy staring at Strange’s hand to notice his deeper frown. Strange’s fingers are flawless. Not one single scar.

Well, that settles things. Tony didn’t survive. He put on the glove, he snapped his fingers, and his body went into shock. Tony is an hour, a minute, a second away from being gone for good.

Out of Tony's many potential dying dreams, this one is a surprise. He expected closure with his parents. Reliving his bachelor glory days. Sitting around eating shawarma with the team. A chance to say goodbye to the people he lost.

A night with the pompous douchebag doctor? Not what Tony would have considered dying dream material.

Still, Tony won't deprive himself of this delirious parting gift. Why should he? It’s not like Tony hasn’t thought about this once or twice. The thoughts tended to follow Tony's anger over the past five years. Time spent cursing the son of a bitch who gave up the stone and had the nerve to die instead of dealing with the consequences.

Yeah, Tony's thought about it. Usually, there's a lot more arguing involved. It feels like cheating to get this domestic sceme without putting in the work.

Tony kisses the inside of Strange's palm. What the hell, he may as well.

Strange’s frown becomes a curious smile. His fingers tease down the bridge of Tony’s nose. “What am I, your sleeping aid?” he asks.

“I was thinking distraction, actually. Hot piece like you? I’ve got lots going on in my head. Lots of bad things, lots of-”

Tony falters when Strange peels back the covers. Nothing on underneath. Mystery solved.

Tony finds himself torn. He _really_ wants something to make fun of. But he's not about to complain about Strange living up to his own ego. If these are the final moments of Tony's life, at least he lucked out in the 'one last fuck' department.

“Keep going,” Strange says, as if he isn’t lying on his back fully nude. “I’m listening.”

Tony shivers at Strange’s fingers bridged around his waist. Turns out, Tony doesn’t have on anything below the belt either. Good feelings settle in Tony’s belly. His cock thickens with interest.

"I’m just saying,” Tony continues, less steady. “If you were up for providing a distraction, I could- I wouldn’t say no, let’s put it that way.”

“A distraction.” A playful lilt enters Strange’s voice. Tony can’t remember hearing anything like it from him before. “I can do that,” he says. “But I need you to…”

“You need me to…?” Tony’s back goes bone straight when fingers find the curve of his spine. “Right. Sure.” His jerky motions lead him to straddle Strange’s waist. Strange is firm and warm inside Tony’s thighs. This close, Tony feels Strange’s cock harden against his skin.

Tony was wrong. As far as dying dreams go, this one is pretty great.

Strange’s hands shift on Tony's sides. Tony finds himself mirroring the motion. He rocks into Strange's body and back on his heels. Strange's thumb draws up the keys of Tony’s rib cage.

“This is the third time in the past few weeks,” Strange says. Playful as their position is, he sounds serious. “You should talk to someone.”

“What, you mean like a doctor?” Tony asks. He rests a hand on Strange’s stomach. “Good thing I have one of those around.”

Tony's grin fades when he remembers that things are different here. No scars. Not a pompous dick. Is Strange a doctor in this warped place too?

Strange must be, because he chuckles. “Yeah,” he agrees, “Good thing.” He draws Tony’s hand to his mouth.

Tony expects another palm kiss or some nuzzling from the big sap. Tony isn’t prepared for Strange to swallow two fingers into his mouth. It’s an unfair moment for Tony to realize how nice Strange's mouth is.

Alright, Tony realized it once or twice.

Strange’s mouth wound around Tony’s fingers is a revelation. His slow suckling rhythm buries itself in Tony’s gut. Tony grinds down on Strange’s thighs in equally slow fashion. Strange groans around his skin, and his tongue teases between Tony’s fingers. The smile Strange masks against Tony’s hand looks awfully pleased.

Tony smears his damp fingers down Strange’s chin. He rubs them through Strange’s goatee and leaves lines of shine on his throat. Strange stares at him, eyes low-lidded.

With surprising ease, Strange allows Tony to pin him down. Tony holds Strange’s hands to the bed. Strange's thumbs cross the inside of Tony’s wrists.

“I take back the ‘talk to someone’ idea,” Strange says. His hair slopes enticingly over his forehead. “For selfish reasons, obviously. I'd say we've got this under control.”

“Obviously,” Tony agrees. He teases his mouth against Strange’s. Strange huffs in frustration.

Tony grins, his own death be damned. “Come here,” he says. Miracle of miracles, Strange does. He lifts his head, and Tony finds himself snagged. Strange is kissing him. They’re knotted in each other, hand and legs and lips.

Tony only hopes he’ll get enough time to enjoy this fully before he hits his final breath.

***

Tony opens his eyes to a bright light.

White morning sun. White bed sheets. Not quite the pearly gates, but it’s better than fire and brimstone. Tony found a poetic quality to the idea of nothing after death, though. Fading away into the endless oblivion of a universe in constant evolution. A single atom in the great desert of history.

Tony takes a deep, sleep-husked breath. The air is cool, but he feels warm. There is sun on his face. Sun on his skin. Other skin on his skin, too. An arm hooks around Tony's waist. A solid presence presses to his back. Exhales between his shoulders leave goosebumps in their wake.

Tony traces fingers over the curled hand on his belly. They are still blemishless, not one single scar. He chuckles at the press of lips to his neck. “Trying to sleep here,” Tony says.

“Same,” Strange murmurs. Leave it to Strange to have the hottest bedroom voice. The thick softness of one word makes Tony shift with interest.

Tony smiles and tips his head back. He’s met by a soft kiss to the side of his neck. Another to his shoulder.

“Better dreams, I take it?” Strange’s question vibrates against Tony’s skin.

“Yeah,” Tony replies, “oh yeah.”

He doesn’t remember dreaming, though. He remembers startling awake in the middle of the night. He remembers amazing sex and falling asleep to Strange’s obnoxiously attractive smirk.

Tony remembers that he should be dead. Or maybe he is dead. Or he’s dying. Or in a vegetative state, or…

He remembers that they won. Somehow, some way, they won. Thanos is gone. The greatest threat life in all the universe ever faced, gone. It's ok. Tony can rest. It's finally ok.

“My intention when I brought up good dreams wasn’t to make you remember the bad ones.” Strange sets his chin on Tony’s shoulder.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to be here,” Tony says. They’ve established that Strange is a doctor in this place, just with prettier hands. But Tony doesn't know if he's into the same mystical bullshit.

At least Strange doesn't react to Tony like he has three heads. “What do you mean by that?” he asks. Another sign of this little dying dream being nuts. Strange is actually listening to what Tony is saying, willingly.

“If I pull out the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line, do I have to worry about catching a knife in the back?” Tony asks.

“Knife in the back? No.” Tony’s mouth slips open at Strange’s leg sliding between his. The point of his knee settles between Tony’s thighs.

Strange nods down to kiss his shoulder. “A well-placed strike to a sensitive region? Quite possible.”

“Mm.” Tony cranes his head back to catch Strange’s eyes. “Anyone ever tell you you’re an asshole?”

“You, actually,” Strange replies. “Right before you asked if I would go out with you.” It sounds like Tony, at least.

Tony always used to pride himself on being the smartest guy in the room. You can't be caught off guard by something when you know everything. Thanos taught Tony that his own best would never be enough.

Now - Tony doesn’t know what this is. He doesn't know if everyone is alright. Or if that even matters, if that’s even his fight

Strange knew this was going to happen. He had to want it, in a godawful way. He had to want Tony to die to save the universe.

“Tony,” Strange says, "It's ok."

Tony laughs, he can’t help it. The sound bursts out of him, sudden and hysterical. “How do you know that?” he asks.

Strange’s eyes soften. In this light, their pale blue almost looks gray. “I guess I don’t,” he admits. “But I want things to be.” Tony can’t imagine the Strange he knew saying this in a million years. Or in fourteen million alternative possibilities.

“That’s awful sweet, doc.” Tony turns under Strange to lie on his back. Strange lingers half-over him, knee between his thighs. Fingers play in Tony's hair. Tony finds his eyes slowly.

“I can be that once in awhile,” Strange says. His face settles beside Tony’s, lips playing at his jaw. Tony, sighing, doesn’t bother telling him that being distracting isn’t the same as being sweet.

Strange traces fingers around the shell of Tony’s ear. “There’s one thing I’m not sure I’ll ever figure out about you,” he says.

“You? Not figure something out?” Tony cracks. “Can’t imagine that.”

Strange scoffs, but he doesn’t lose his smile. “Your brain,” he says. “I don’t think I’ll ever figure out how to turn it off.”

Tony raises his brow. “And here I thought you liked a big brain. Never struck me as the bimbo type.”

“I love a big brain,” Strange says. “Among other things.” His thigh slides between Tony's legs at the perfect angle. Tony's hips jut off the mattress. He may be going through a life or death crisis, but he’s only human.

“But you would be better off if you stopped thinking once in awhile,” Strange adds.

Tony huffs a laugh. It’s a sentiment he’s heard before, and one he's never taken much stock in. Tony is not one for contentment. He doesn’t let himself rest, or relax, or stop. There’s too much mystery in the world. Too much to think about. Too much to regret.

“Stop,” Strange says, a thumb across his cheekbone. “For a few minutes.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” Tony counters.

Strange’s shrug says he isn’t wrong. “I didn’t say forever,” Strange says. “I said for a few minutes. Everything is ok, Tony.”

But Strange doesn’t know that, and neither does Tony. Tony doesn’t know if he is alive or dead. He doesn’t know if any of this is real. He doesn’t know if his friends survived.

So much can happen to them. So many things, and Tony won’t be there. He won’t be able to save them. He won’t be able to do what he’s been doing since this whole hero schtick began.

When Tony meets Strange’s eyes, his smile isn’t as steady as he’d like it to be. “Fine, hot shot,” Tony says. “Convince me.”

Tony doesn’t expect the fingers that trace his lips. Middle and pointer scale the line between them, peeling them apart like an overripe fruit. Tony shifts against the leg between his thighs. Tony knows Strange is going to kiss him, he's ready for it. But it’s just- he’s just- He’s good. He’s too good.

Tony lets Strange ease him on the pillows. He melts into the bed sheets like he doesn’t have skin to contain him. Strange covers him, fingers in his hair, tasting past his lips. Tony lets Strange have him.

For a few minutes, hours, or however long, Tony stops thinking. It's the happiest he's felt in a long time.

*The End*


End file.
